


In the wind

by solitariusvirtus



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8470171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: Though there is not much time between the immortal and the mortal, bonds are formed through the smallest of things. It is these little things that matter in any grand achievement.  A set of drabbles centered around Éowynand Legolas and the ties than bind them.





	

 

 

 

 

 

 

Éowyn, the White Lady of Rohan, lay in the House of Healing, grey eyes set upon the highest point they could reach. Her bandaged wounds had stopped bleeding but she could hardly move without a bout of pain wrecking her whole body. Outside the sun was shining and Éowyn longed to feel its rays warming her. Warmth. How she had missed in the dark and dreadful period of Grima Wormtongue's supremacy. The shudder that travelled up her spine whenever she remembered the leech did not spare her. Fury boiled when she remembered the whispers of that monster; he had poisoned her mind too.

"My Lady of Rohan."

The spoken greeting dispelled her bleak thoughts. Éowyn looked towards its sourced only to be met with the vision of an Elf. The sun had attached its tendrils to him, for a moment obscuring Éowyn's view. But she did know him. He was a companion of Aragorn; Legolas he had introduced himself as. A tentative smile formed on her lips.

"Master Elf." her acknowledgement was soft yet not lacking openness.

His own smile was her answer. Legolas assessed the damage her confrontation of the Witch-king had brought. Superior eyes could tell that she would heal, but it would take some time and patience. Even wounded, her smile remained brilliant.

Something was born between them in that moment.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Delight shone in Éowun's eyes as one of the healers helped her to her feet. For the past couple of weeks she had been bedridden and although visitors had come and gone she would have much preferred to be up and about. One could always find one of three people in her company. If her brother Éomer was not seeing her then surely Legolas was entertaining her with some story. However if neither of these two could be found at her bedside then Faramir, the new Stewart of Gondor by right, would engage her in conversation. Not only once had it occur to that this man liked her.

"But do I like him?" she asked herself in a whisper, walking along with the wall as support after she had shooed the healer away. He was a good man, of noble sort and a brave warrior. In time she could perhaps grow fond of him, she may even fall in love with him. Yet joining her life to his would only mean exchanging keepers. She would pass from her brother to her husband and in the end her status would not have changed at all but in name. The truth of it loomed threateningly over her. From one cage to another, for what man would understand her longing once she was a wife? Grey eyes darkened in a storm.

"What troubles you on such a fine day, my Lady?"

Éowyn was startled from her thought by a voice she now knew very well.

"Master Elf, have I not told you to address me by name?"

"I believe my request was the same."

They look at one another and smile, almost twin smiles. His unspoken question is answered with a slight inclination of the head And Legolas finds himself walking with her. They spoke about the most inconsequential of things.

The ebb and flow of conversation relaxed Éowyn greatly. Despite her worries she found herself in better spirit, with a ready smile on her features. If the Elf was aware of the change he said nothing, neither did he press matters with her qualms. She was grateful to him for that.

Her cheerfulness lasted well into the evening when she was again left with her thoughts. In thinking the matters over she discovered that what Faramir felt towards her was much like the feelings she had nurtured towards Aragorn. It was a mix of care, admiration and respect; it was love in its incipient form. Again she found herself questioning if that was enough for her. Would she be able to morph her spirit and put all her frustrations behind her with this tiny branch as assurance?

The answer flashed in her mind. Éowyn knew herself well enough; she had known it was not enough. It was not glory she sought, neither death. What she wanted was a little measure of freedom. The choice in her hands. She asked for nothing more.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

There were times when she felt that only her newest friend understood her, for she had confided in Legolas about her dreams of freedom. He had looked ahead into the horizon and her heart knew he comprehended even if he had said nothing.

In the dead of the night Éowyn cried out. The scream, bloodcurdling, was not only a cry for help; it was an expression of utter horror she could not keep inside of her. Yet not matter how loud her cries were nobody came to her aid. She was alone in the suffocating darkness. The kind of darkness she knew from the times when Grima's eyes followed her and the worm trailed her every step. And the there he was, again, in her mind, mocking her even now. Bile rose in her throat. Would she ever be free of this monster?

Steely eyes opened through the shroud of sleep. Somebody was shaking her, Grima's voice fading from her mind. _Merciful_ _Elbereth_ , she thought she heard the oath. Unable to put a face to the voice Éowyn struggled to focus her gaze. Her vision was assaulted by her brother's strong features yet she knew the voice not to be his. Craning her neck she managed to catch a glimpse of her elven friend. Instinctively her cold hand shot out to him. She knew not why but she had come to rely upon him much in the way she relied upon Éomer when they were but children.

Without trace of hesitation Legolas twined their fingers in a gentle reassuring grip. As if he sensed the chaos within her he whispered words of comfort in his own tongue. Like a draught the words flowed over her and within, calming her. In this time Éomer had called upon Gandalf the White to be of aid. The wizard had mumbled something she could not catch in her current state and held his hand to her. With some difficulty she extended hers back to him. Legolas had not yet let go of her other hand but he had fell silent upon Gandalf's arrival.

Light invaded the very core of her being and Éowyn felt something break within her. A yell was torn from her lips. Distantly, as if in a dream, she sensed a heaviness being lifted off of her. That darkness at the far end of her mind, a place she carefully avoided in the waking hours, seemed to pour out of her. The full extent of Grima's vile approach of her and abuse was only now fully known to the wizard. Gandalf chanted softly in a language unknown to her and placed two fingers upon her forehead. "Sleep now, daughter of Rohan."

Even in the fog that covered her in the midst of Gandalf command her hand had not let that of Leogolas go. Neither had his grip wavered. The sound of retreating footsteps reached her ears and she could make out a conversation. Weakly she clung to the Elf. Seeming to have understood her reluctance, Legolas touched his palm to the crown of her head. It was only after that she heard her brother's worried voice instruct Legolas. Éowyn mustered the strength to smile but exhaustion threw her into a deep slumber. She was, therefore, unable to her the exchange between man and elf.

"Why were you here, near my sister?"

"King of the Mark, I mean no harm to the Lady. She is an important person to me whose distress greatly affects me. I have sensed her pain and want to comfort her."

Éomer's face darkened. His lips formed a thin line but he volunteered nothing else besides, "My sister has grown fond of you."

Legolas fixed him with a stare. "And I of her." Elves had no qualms with expressing their feeling like many of the other races. They were opened and straight forward.

The Horse-lord turned around with not one word. He hoped and prayed that the bond between those two would not be a source of ache for his sister later on.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Legolas stopped midstride, silver eyes looking ahead at the picture painted before him. He was frozen to his current position in the flourishing garden. Before him Éowyn was speaking with Boromir's brother, Faramir. They seemed deep in conversation, undoubtedly oblivious to the world around them. With a start the elf realized he may have happened on a private moment and it would be best to turn away. Yet his body would not budge, his only choice remained to watch and unwillingly hear the ongoing conversation.

"And you shall be leaving with your King brother, my Lady, after Lord Aragorn's ascending to the throne of Gondor?" Faramir probed slowly. Something was on his mind, and it had much to do with the White Lady of Rohan.

For her part Éowyn regarded him unsurely. Although she had a vague idea what he was playing at she had no wish to give him hope where there was none. "My brother would not allow it to be different." Éomer had been keeping a close eye on his sister and as the bond between her and Legolas grew, so did her brother's attempts to lure her back to Meduseld.

Her voice had been polite but held no trace of affection and for some reason Legolas relaxed, then caught himself. What reason had he had to tense at the prospect of Éowyn finding comfort in a man who was, for all intents and purposes, courting her? It had not escaped him, the look upon the late Stewart's son when his eyes fell on Éowyn. He had eyes of adoration, yet Éowyn had not been anything but coldly courteous to him. A moment later the elf saw the pattern of his own thoughts. Could it be that his own eyes looked upon her so? Legolas was aware that they were closely tied to one another, yet the possibility of falling in love with her had never crossed his mind until this very moment when another showed interest in her.

But of course it hadn't. When he first laid eyes on her she had been drawn to his friend, Aragorn, and had remained so for a short while. Once she saw her confession would not be acknowledged Éowyn had focused on protecting, rather than turning to someone for comfort. Their friendship took roots on a rainy morning at Helm's Deep and it had been of the platonic sort. Or so Legolas had thought. His insides roiled.

Elves were being at ease with their feelings, both having them and expressing them, yet this was a more delicate case. The emotions that he felt around and for her were dangerous for both of them. Éowyn was mortal while he would not fade with time, nor did he have the ability of giving up his immortality as he was no half-elf. No, if he chose her, he would later suffer when her absence would become overpowering. Fear would not stop him if she too loved him, and yet their road would not be an easy one.

His ears picked up her voice, only then did he break from his thoughts. "I thank you for the care, my Lord, however, I have no such plans for the future."

"How can that be? A young Lady such as yourself…"

"It is by my own choosing." she cut him off. A fleeting smile touched her lips and Legolas swore he felt the world spin. "I am not yet ready and may never be so." Happiness flooded the elf at her confession, his mind going in a haze fiercer than any he had ever known.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Éowyn sat on a stone bench, mind in a flurry of thoughts. The sun brushed its rays to her golden tresses and warmly touched upon her face. Somewhere up in the trees the birds sang a cheery tune she hardly heard over her own thoughts. Éomer, her dear brother, had grown very persistent in expressing his wish that she join him back to Edoras. Yet her heart longed to remain where she was. What was more he had somehow heard about Faramir's great admiration for her and was forever insinuating one thing or another. She well knew that Éomer was not ill-intentioned in his requests that she travelled to Meduseld with him or that she consider Faramir's suit, but neither did she think he understood her. Éowyn heaved a sigh. How could he understand her when he did not know what she was going through?

It was not that Éowyn had not thought about settling down and bringing children of her own. She may take to things women commonly didn't concern themselves with, however that did not make her less of a woman. Like any other, she wanted to love and be loved in return and Faramir, not matter how courteous and pleasant, had not woken such feelings within her. Come to think of it, no man had ever done so. Aragorn was the only man that had come close to making her consider tying herself to him in marriage; her reason had more to do with his aptitudes than with the feelings he evoked inside of her. She had been impressed by his skill and for a time thought her infatuation stronger than it really was. And now she feared her hear had gone and got itself attached to someone else and different altogether.

With even more concern she came upon another one of the things Éomer had, only in passing, mentioned. Her close relationship with the Prince of Mirkwood, that was. He meant well, her brother; Éomer only wished to protect her, except he had not yet realised there was nothing more left of her to protect. Her fate had been sealed that day at Helm's Deep when Legolas had first engaged her in conversation. A smile later would form the frame of their friendship. But, as she got closer to him, her view of their bond started morphing. The affection she held for him was not the same as the one she bore for Éomer or the fondness she had given to Aragorn. Love had crept upon her without her realising and now Éowyn found herself unwilling to let it go in spite of the hardships looming in the horizon. Her heart had tied itself to Legolas, even if her friend did not know of it yet and would likely turn her away.

Would Legolas refuse her heart? Who knew? The elven prince had not been anything but pleasant to her; warm and friendly would describe it best and at times Éowyn thought she saw a certain spark in his eyes. More so recently, after Faramir had started taking an interest in her. Éowyn dared not hope too much; it could simply be that he was looking out for her. Elves believed that a union would be most prosperous if the participants were entirely given to each other, so her friend had told her one sunny afternoon during a walk along the stream. It was then that she had first realised her feelings as the thought of joining him in marriage had filled her mind with a pleasant sensation. Valar help them both if such a union took place. In the back of her mind a voice yelled that the 'if' was more of a 'when' than anything else.

The image of her parents flashed in front of her eyes, blurred by time. Despite the unclearness Éowyn could distinctly remember the almost palpable happiness around them and how safe she had felt with them. Her mother's love had been so great that in the end the grief at losing the children's father made her ill and she perished. Éowyn sometimes heard her cries ringing in her ears and the sad, tears streaked face in the last months of her life. Love was such a powerful thing; scary as it was exciting and perilous as it could lift someone then suddenly bring them down. The risk was even greater for her and Legolas, if it ever came to that. All Éowyn had to decide was if the reward was worth said danger. The heart of her cried out; it had long since made up its mind, in the early days of laying in the sickbed listening to the Elf speak to her with such familiarity and candour.

Footfalls behind her made the Lady of Rohan turn around. Her eyes met with another pair of story skies and a smile inwardly slid on her face. "Be welcomed to sit by me brother."

Éomer quietly joined her. He gave her a look she could not decipher and put his hand to her cheek. "I will be leaving for Meduseld on the morrow." he announced softly.

"Brother, I-" Éowyn began only to be interrupted a moment later.

"I have not come to ask you to join me, nor am I here for Denethor's son. You've already decided what you shall do and I have to accept that. But, will you be happy?" The question was a loaded one. And as Éowyn regarded him with surprised eyes he couldn't help adding, "Did you think it had escaped by notice, that your love for the Elf grows stronger every day?"

"I cannot deny the truth." she replied simply.

"Do not fear, sister dearest; his eyes, and his heart as well, are for you." After delivering the words Éomer smiled at her. "Be happy, Éowyn. Sister. Do as your heart tells you and know that should you ever need me, I will be at your side. All you have to do is call."

"Many thanks." Éowyn called to his retreating back. She had to bite her lip least she would start weeping. The meaning behind her brother's words had been clear to her. "Éomer, I give my word to you that we shall see each other again." she whispered to the wind. "I promise."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Had anyone told Éowyn that one single touch could make her world explode around her, she would have likely given them a doubtful stare and consider the best way to depart. Yet then she'd been a green girl; her mind filled with a longing for adventure, a zest for life. That had been before she grew into a woman who understood things differently. It was, at the present, a matter not to be regarded as implausible. The Lady of Rohan had learned that a single touch could do more than shatter her world; it could rebuild it.

"Éowyn," Legolas called, his voice a plea, gently spoken. His hand held hers in a relaxed grip. The comfort of the touch made his blood sing. He would never tire of the feel of her.

"I will perish," she reminded him, tears shining in her eyes. "I will leave you alone in this world; I will cause you pain." And she mourned the fact that it was to be so. "I will be gone before long."

"And I shall still love you after you are gone," he whispered, his head leaning forward, "as I love you now. Whether or not we are together, my heart will break and my soul will cry when you are no more. But I would rather know a life with you, than leave here alone."

Those words wrenched a deep sigh from Éowyn. "I would hold on to you for as long as I am permitted. I cannot give you forever; I can only give you right now." In the end, they would both hurt. She for causing him pain and he from watching her drift closer to death each and every single day. But the pain they could endure, if only they had a minute of shared love between them.

Legolas closed his hand firmer around hers and placed a soft kiss to the crown of her head. The scent of sunshine drifted to him, a smile fixing itself on his face. He could not begin to put into words what he felt at her willingness to join with him. They may not have an eternity even if she'd been an elleth. Many things could separate them should the Valar wish them not to be. Taking her face into his hands, Legolas brushed his lips to her, the gesture chaste. He'd wanted to say something else when they were interrupted by a rather spirited Merry.

The Halfling, face flushed and aglow, ambled up to them excitedly, having probably missed the intimate exchange by mere seconds. "Aragorn will be crowned King!" His joy was so infectious that Éowyn could not help the peels of laughter that escaped her.

At her side Legolas shared his own joy at hearing such news. There was a momentarily, subtle look he had given towards the Lady of Rohan as if to gauge her reaction better. She smiled at him, wide and cheerful. It did him good to see her thus. For her happiness brought his own to a higher level.

"He must be so pleased," Éowyn said, simply letting her fingers entwine with Legolas'.

Merry, taking note of the gesture, levelled a curious stare at the couple. He didn't reply to Éowyn's words but understanding dawned upon his face. If one knew where to look, the fondness between woman and elf was most noticeable. And Merry knew exactly where to search for such signs.

"Indeed," Legolas added, his sentiment mirroring Éowyn's own. "And we share his joy." As he would share theirs, for Aragorn was a man who valued his friends and allies.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The crowds had gathered for the coronation. All manners of people watched as the crown was placed upon the head of Aragorn. Éowyn, the White Lady, stood amongst them, a silent song in her heart for the man she greatly admired. He had been born to be King, she had seen it upon the first time her eyes touched him. Brilliant, show-white petals rained over them, their sweet scent afloat. Éowyn bowed her head to the King who walked past her. And Aragorn returned the gesture, a knowing look in his eyes. Éomer was standing next to his sister, arm protectively restraining one of hers. His head dipped to Aragorn. The Horse Master affectionately squeezed his sister's hand, a reflex of younger years.

Then came the elves. Leading them was Legolas, tall as a tree, straight and proud. Happiness radiated off of him. Legolas hadn't dared look for Éowyn, but he felt her there. They would see one another soon. As of now, his duty was to his friend of old. The elf smiled, his head tilting for Aragorn's attention to be deployed elsewhere. The banner of the house of Elrond was being brought forward, but not on its own.

Éowyn had seen elves at Helm's Deep; the warriors with long bows and gleaming armours. She'd seen them well. But this was a new experience. For the first time, Éowyn saw a female of the blessed race. She was lithe and tall, above the human woman's height. And she was lovely. Flowing ebony tresses framed a delicate face with mesmerising blue eyes and red lips. No wonder the King could love no other but her, Éowyn reflected. And it was clear by the way the elven lady gazed at Aragorn that she returned every ounce of affection. They had been made one for the other.

"There is joy in your smile," Éomer noted, his thumb pressing into the back of her palm.

"Should that be not so?" Éowyn questioned, a knowing smile on display. "I have long come to term with my feelings for the King, brother mine. I shall admire him, always. He shall be my saviour for as long as I live. I will not deny it."

"But your heart beats for someone other than he?" The King of the Mark gave his sister a look of understanding. "I would have grieved were it not so, sweet sister."

Having said his piece, Éomer retreated a few steps. He gave a stern look which surprised Éowyn as it was not aimed at her. She turned her head to the side in hopes of finding what had caused her brother's actions. She saw Legolas gazing at her intently. Éowyn gasped, yet held her place next to her brother. It would not do to move. Instead, she acknowledged him with a longing glance.

Legolas closed his eyes and seemed to listen for something. When he opened them, a yearning of his own shimmered in those orbs. He shifted lightly, barely enough for it to be perceptible.

Aragorn had reached the Halflings. Éowyn's grey eyes could see the hobbits bow. Yet the King stopped the. To the amazement of all present, he was the one to bow before them. The crowds followed his example, all bending knees. Éowyn too paid the proper respects. It was for all the kinds to thank the saviours. Had it not been for them, theirs would have been a darker world. The White Lady of Rohan also had to be thankful for all the people they had brought into her life.

"I shall never forget what you've done for me," she whispered, eyes going to the elf watching her.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Thranduil listened to his son's words, skin turning a shade paler so that it could rival the show. "My son, ask of me the brightest of stars. If you will it I shall give you the command of the troops. Or should you like to you will have your own domain," The Elven King Thranduil tired to appease his child. "But I cannot allow you to tie your soul to hers. Lassui, understand, son." What could he possibly do at this point?

"Adar, my heart has already decided," Legolas explained patiently, gaze locked on the elf sitting on the wooden throne. "I shall not be persuaded to renounce my love. I ask you, adar: how can I bare to live without her by my side? Éowyn, the White Lady is to be my bride before the Valar."

"She is but a blink of an eye as existence. When she is gone you will mourn her, son." Sorrowful eyes recoiled from the understanding in the younger elf' stare. "You heart, your very soul will grieve her forever. It will break you. Do not ask me to bare witness to such happenings."

"I can only endure. And if it brings me to my knees, I shall return to happier times; moments with her. Those are all I have, adar. But they will be enough." One flaming candle quivered as if shaken by the emotions floating about. "Bare witness with me, adar, to the beauty and the tragedy."

Letting his head drop, Thranduil considered his son for a few silent beats. This woman of his would bring him incommensurable sorrow. "I cannot keep you from your path," he decided finally. "You shall wed her if that is what you wish. Bring her to the Woodland Realm."

Unlike Arwen, Legolas would never be able to relinquish his immortality. Éowyn fading was inevitable. Yet, he believed that even a short amount of time spent in her presence, that score of years in which she would stand by him, would alleviate the sting. Having known a life with her, Legolas would be changed. In spite of the ache that would swallow him, Legolas could not bring himself to regret his decision. For how could one be repentant for loving and being loved in return? And after that be it upon the Valar to decide the fates of the two lovers. The Powers of Arda would make the path clear for them.

"Adar, she is a brave woman. She is worthy of love," Legolas assured his father."In my sky she is the brightest star and her glow is by far the loveliest my eyes have ever seen." Allowing his father time to come to grips with the confession, Legolas waited in silence.

"Then let her glow be a blessing to you," Thranduil replied softly. He heaved a sight from deep within his chest. A weariness eons old gripped the King. "I shall count her as my daughter. She who has slain the Witch-king of Angmar shall enter this realm as my child."

Smiling lightly at the acceptance that had been given, Legolas bowed to his parent. He turned and with slow steps left his father's halls. Éowyn was waiting for him in the city of Gondor with its white walls. The elf took a moment to imagine his beloved sitting there in the window, her eyes searching the horizon for him. Cool air rushed past him, playing in his golden locks as it went. Legolas offered and amused grin and continued on his way. His beloved awaited his return and he was desperate for her too.

"Éowyn, I am returning to you," he whispered to the wind, asking that the message be carried into the White City where she waited.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The leaves rustled, a soft movement in the hands of a dawdling breeze. Éowyn took careful steps on the cobblestones, one foot before the other. The golden hem of her green dress brushed the floor gingerly, the ghost of a kiss. Grey eyes stared ahead unseeing; Éowyn was in a world of her own, the realm of dreams and fantasy. Gently flowing locks trailed behind her, receiving the wind's caresses.

Arwen took note of the Rohirrim maiden. She had fought a battle and slain the Witch-king, she had been heavily wounded yet she had not succumbed to death's cold grip. She walked the streets of the White City of Gondor as if in a dream. Her heart's song Arwen could hear well and clear, as her own soul had sung it and still did. Love had touched this mortal woman soul. Arwen had seen it during the feasts that followed her husband's coronation and the wedding. The elven bride had seen the way in which the prince of Mirkwood lovingly, reverently watched his beloved. There could be no mistake about it. And she had witnessed the light in the eyes of Rohan's White Lady when she caught her lover in the crowd.

So sweet and heartbreaking was their love that Arwen's eyes filled with tears. The fair maiden of Rohan, niece of a king and sister to another, belonged to the race of men. Beautiful were they who lingered but a moment upon the fertile soil; beautiful and doomed. Time etched lines into their faces and weakened their bodies. And, oh, in a handful of years the face that she was seeing now would be nowhere to be found. "I hail thee, daughter of Rohan," Arwen called out to the approaching woman.

"My Lady," Éowyn greeted in return, gracefully falling into a curtsy. The Queen's silence prompted her to venture a question. "May I be of use?" Éowyn regarded the elven wife of Aragorn with mounting interest. What could she possibly want from her?

"Difficult is the road upon which you have set yourself," Arwen warned. "I pray that you will find happiness along your journey for sorrow shall not be far away from you and yours. Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan, do you believe you can withstand that which awaits you?"

It took but a moment for Éowyn to understand the Queen's words. "My Lady will understand me best when I say that even the briefest of moments is a blessing. I have not the gift of an endless existence, nor can my elf leave his immortality behind. But this heart of mine I have long since placed in his hands."

"I can offer no more than my support," Arwen stated simply. "Our situations are vastly different, but should you will it, I offer you my support." Taking a step towards Éowyn, the elf put a hand upon her shoulder. "Are you certain this is what you wish for?"

Smiling, a soft, almost tender, curling of her lips, Éowyn nodded her head. "I chose him long before I knew he was a choice." Searching eyes peered at Arwen. "Do you know the tales they spin of the King and I? They say I love him." The Queen's face remained the same. "And so I do. He is the one whose council I have sought in my hours of need, for we understand one another. I love him in the fashion I love my brother." Éowyn stopped to gather her thoughts. "But my elf I love in a different way. My elf needs not words to understand me. 'Tis enough that we look into each other's eyes."

"Then my heart is glad for you, fair Éowyn," Arwen replied. "If my husband be thy brother, count me as you would a sister."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

A wreath of snow-white flowers crowned Éowyn whose hands gripped handfuls of her skirts. The Shieldmaiden of Rohan had donned an armour of an entirely different kind. Gone were the cuirass and the long sword. She had no helmet or gauntlets. Instead of chainmail she wore fine silks. All the metal had been replaced with gauzy, soft material and fragrant flowers.

Éowyn's two elvish attendants concerned themselves with intricate braids, and that left the woman with her own thoughts. It all felt surreal, like she would be called to waken any moment and find herself in her brother's home once more. Yet she knew this to be no dream. Indeed, Éowyn, daughter of Rohan was not in the world of slumber. No, she was very much awake and preparing for her own wedding.

Upon his return, Legolas had brought with him an entire convoy. Éowyn had not been surprised by his proposal, she had been overjoyed. And now that she was in the Woodland realm the reality began to settle over her. She was to be a wife, she was to gain responsibilities. Éowyn had been gifted a lifetime with the one she loved. Uncharacteristically, tears filled her vision. Her heart would burst, so full of love and bliss. The organ swelled inside her chest, every beat a sweetly painful. Éowyn would finally find completion, a place where she belonged and someone she belonged with.

Rising to her full height, Éowyn allowed the two maidens to lead her. The wood hummed underneath her bare feet, warm and alive. The smooth surface was a caress against her skin, slow and tender, a reminder that she dwelled in the realm of elves where the nature itself was a friend. Éowyn's fingers brushed against the walls, the dark colours soothing to her silver eyes.

Surprise took firm hold of her when an elegant, slender, yet clearly male, hand came to rest upon her shoulder. Éowyn looked up to meet the steely gaze of the Elven King. Demurely, she let her eyes drop to the ground. Too penetrating was the gaze of Thranduil.

"Look at me, child," the King encouraged, fingers lifting her chin. Head bent over the mortal woman, Thranduil chuckled softly. "Do you fear me?" Oh, but her eyes spoke volumes. "I have promised my son that upon entering my realm you shall become as a daughter to me."

"You honour me too greatly, my Lord," Éowyn replied, shrewd gaze fixing itself on the elf. "I have yet to understand why it is you allow this union." Did he not wish to protect his child from heartbreak?

It was with practiced ease that Thranduil read the woman before him. "Had my son's heart asked for my consent I would have been glad; yet that is not the way of love. Lassui shall love you no matter what words leave the mouths of others. My son had chosen you. Were I to turn you away I would do us all a great disservice." How could he possibly cause his son pain by rejecting this woman?

"I do truly love him," she said, face aglow in the dim light. "If I could somehow spare him the hurt I would. But I cannot. Thus I shall endeavour to make him happy. It is what I can offer to him."

"It is the greatest gift of all," Thranduil responded. A hush fell over them. After a few sort moments the King considered speaking again. "Legolas grew without the nurturing love of a woman. I am hoping you can teach him what it is to be loved by one such as you. Be to him what you would have him be to you. Be as a parent, as a sibling, as a lover. And let him be all those for you. Trust in the Valar. They shall help."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Legolas frowned into the looking glass. The wait was a strain that he could not endure much longer. At his side, Aragorn gave him a knowing smile. Narrowing his eyes at his friend's countenance, the son of Thranduil abandoned his reflection in favour of the man standing next to him. He regarded Aragorn silently but a moment, with interest flowing through him. "Why do you look at me so, my friend?"

"I need not explain, you shall discover it in your own time." Sage words Aragorn had delivered. Still the peculiar expression he had adopted persisted. And there was something else there too. Something hidden from view, yet at the same time extremely telling. It could not be missed. Not by Legolas.

"Shall you tell me of the trails that await me?" Legolas asked, part amusement, part seriousness. "You shouldn't. I have heard it from countless people by now. Have no worries, my friend, I am truly invested into this. I love her and I shan't change my mind." Why did they all worry about something inevitable?

"Were you not invested, we would not be here," Aragorn observed, his voice deepening slightly with the rise of his emotions. "No, I give no speech to you. But do not forget that I am your friend and hers also. As such, I must tell you this path you've chosen might just bring about your ending."

"Arwen knew that loving you would bring her closer to death's door," Legolas reminded his friend, not without kindness though. "I do know all this. And while, we elves, have the gift of longevity, we can still be slain. Who is to say that I shall not die before her? Mysterious are the ways of the Valar."

The warning having been delivered, Aragorn relaxed. "Arwen had to give up her immortality. She had to renounce a life with her kin. The choice weights heavily on me, friend, yet I would not wish it to be any different now." His head turned to the side. "Just know that I wish you every happiness with your chosen one." No doubt the sorrow they would come to know all too soon.

Heaving a sigh, Legolas started towards the doors. He could wait no longer. Aragorn having caught the sign of impatience, followed close behind. Both made their way to the large hall, taking their assigned places. Speaking quietly with an elven maiden was Arwen, Queen of Gondor. She nodded her head towards Legolas and smiled sweetly to her husband. Gracefully disengaging from her current conversation, Arwen reached Aragorn's side. "It shall begin very soon now, my love," she whispered, eyes sparkling. "How grand it all seems," Arwen contemplated, allowing herself to drift away.

As those words passed her lips, the elves began to play their harps and flutes, signalling that the bride was to come, accompanied by the King. Éowyn's brother had not been able to come for pressing matters of state were upon him. Nor did Éowyn have other close male relatives. Thus the King had offered to be the one to give her away. It was a symbol of his acceptance of her, as much as an encouragement to the woman who entered his house. All would witness the regard she was held in.

"You father's famed gift of foresight has passed to you, I see," Aragorn teased good-naturedly, one arm locking around her waist. "Tell me this then, fairest lady, shall they find happiness in their union?"

"Some they shall find, other they shall make for themselves." Arwen looked towards the door. "It is for them to build a life together. We can only pray that the Valar will guide them and keep them safe." Once more she gave thanks to the creators. "Oh, but my heart fills with joy at the thought of them being so."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Pressing a sweet kiss upon his Lady's brow, the elven prince hung together with his beloved in the infinite moment that followed after bliss. He murmured in her ear lovingly, words of praise in his own tongue and some in the common one. His fingers gently combed through her matted hair, brushing her temple with his lips. Legolas caressed the exposed, dewy flesh that quivered like the string of a bow. Were it possible, he thought he could perish of this unrelenting joy. Drunk with it, everything resting in a haze, the elf took his woman's mouth with his own.

The river of words breathed into her ears touch upon Éowyn's soul so that she may feel their warmth. Strange and pleasing was her lover's speech, a secret song that burrowed in her heart. Éowyn trembled, the effect of the attentions lavished upon her leaving behind a woman full where merely a girl had been. Straining protesting muscles, the White Lady brought her arms tighter about Legolas. She felt as if she were to slip away and be lost in a sea lest she held onto him. Quick had been her descent from the heights, yet all the same she was irreversibly changed.

"Speak to me, my love," Legolas encouraged when he saw her eyes slowly open. Tenderness shone in his gaze, ghosting upon wisps of gold and stormy eyes. "Let me hear your voice."

Éowyn did not doubt that many had heard her voice. She blushed, a deep red dusting over her cheeks. "What would I say more to you?" she questioned despite the shyness that threatened to take over her.

Chuckling in a manner that bespoke of intimacy, he pulled her in his arms. "Tell me of the barley fields or the taming of wild horses. Tell me of the sunrise and halls of Meduseld in the summer's heat. You may choose whatever you wish so long as you speak." Legolas shifted bringing her closer still. "Talk of childhood days and hours of mischief if you will. Many are the moments you can tell me of. "

"Shall I tell you of my lover, then?" Éowyn teased lightly. Upon witnessing his smile, she went on. "He is like none you've ever seen. A dream, yet solid in my arms. And he holds my heart just so," she stopped as his fingers traced her spine. "Just so. Oh, I could speak of him on and on and not tire at all. I shall not run out of praise to give. Believe me, stranger, I adore him so."

"And I shall never tire of hearing your voice." The elf rested his head atop hers. "My Lady, it sounds like you love him much. He loves you in the same fashion." Adopting a serious mien, Legolas brought her eyes to his. "Never have I felt such strong emotions for another. Were there words, I would explain it, yet I cannot. What name should I give to it? I find no name for what this is but love."

"Love," she echoed. "It is love, my Lord; what else but love? I am filled with this love. Any moment now I might burst. What will be then, when I am brought back into reality come morning?"

"Come morning, I shall love you even more than I do now," he promised. But was it possible to love her more? Oh, yes, Legolas certainly thought so. Until his very soul came apart with it. "Let the light witness out delight."

Clouds scattered across the vast night sky. They framed the moon which in turn bathed the lovers in its ethereal light. The breezes shifted through the leaves, the murmur a constant melody in the dark. Could there be anything to be compare with such a night? The Valar must have smiled upon him and her.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Faramir beheld with some surprise the offer that had come forth from the elves. They were all children of Eru Iluvatar, of course, and it was not unheard of for elves to help the second born creations. However it was somewhat perplexing that leading the Wood-elves of Thranduil was the son of the King. Legolas had come hither with his people whom all wished to settle in Ithilien. An elven settlement was something they could benefit from. His people could use the help the elvenfolk gave freely.

Yet the Stewart of Gondor, appointed so by King Aragorn himself, felt unease creep inside of him. Elves would bring innumerable advantages but the price he was to pay was equally dear. A man in love he had been, Faramir recounted. His eyes and heart had been bewitched by the White Lady, slayer of the Witch-king. It was only now that he understood her cold countenance. She had been gracious, as any well-bred lady should, yet her gaze had not lit once upon him. She had tried to gently dissuade him, but fool that he'd been, Faramir had perceived that as shyness where indifference stood.

Now she was Lady of the Wood-land realm. Éowyn was wife to another man, and Faramir had to strengthen his resolve for she's never seen a lover in him. It had been so very easy to banish her from his thoughts, taking upon himself the work of rebuilding an entire realm. A busy mind had not the time to roam the dominion of fantasy in lieu of reality. Caught up in his work, Faramir had been oft too exhausted to manage whisper or though of Éowyn. That was as well for seldom did a few moons heal the wounds of a human's heart. So it held true for the Faramir, whose eyes had yet to forget the image of her, nor had he erased her from his soul like the see would footprints on the sand.

He'd seen her arrive with the party of elves, radiant at her husband's side. Éowyn had yet to change, although a soft glow seemed to have surrounded her. She had greeted Faramir with the expected decorum and not once had her eyes betrayed a thing. For that, the Stewart would always be grateful. Her elven companion could not doubt see the hidden longing in Faramir's stare. Legolas had not lost his untroubled mien once. If only Faramir could be so at peace with his own heart. Blissful would be his existence.

Avoidance was not an option. Faramir would not once need the council of Thranduil's son and the elves would undoubtedly mingle with the race of Men. Such was written for him by the creators, such he would endure. The sun had risen, the darkness had not endured, neither would the pain.

Comfort could be found in watching the Lady from afar. He could not be a lover to her, and he could not wrench her away from his heart altogether. Perhaps in time he could come to love her as he would a sister. It was to be greater even should he love her thus. All his suffering would find an end, his problems vanished. If she'd only be a sister to him, Faramir though with a tinge of bitterness.

Ithilien would be born anew, and Faramir with it. The Stewart had convinced himself that he could deconstruct all he'd ever been up until that point and then bring it all back together. Suppress he would those part that bled and stop the blow of hurt. And though, most likely than not, the scar would forever bear some ache, the gap within him would slowly fill as time went by. He would find his own place in the new world.

"Upon my father's grave and that of my brother, I am a man of honour."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Éowyn pressed two fingers to her temple. In her attempt to stifle the ache she accidentally overlooked the precariously balanced wine chalice, her elbow knocking it over. Unfortunately the ruby liquid spilled onto one of the weaving maidens Éowyn had recently befriended. "Nimwen, apologies, my friend," the White Lady said as Nimwen's fingers stilled in their work just as the scarlet dampened her cobalt skirts.

"Ah," Nimwen breathed out. "Worry not, my Lady. 'Tis no great loss." Standing to her full height, the maiden brought the chalice up with her in her ascent. Soft-spoken and delicate looking, Nimwen, daughter of Voronwë, was one of the few noble daughter of Gondor who had settled in Ithilien after the war ended. It was quite by chance that she had encountered the human wife of the Elven Prince. However upon finding that they shared a common view of many affairs, Éowyn had taken the young woman under her wing. Nimwen in return kept her company and had assumed the place of confidante.

"My friend, allow me to send for another gown, at the very least," Éowyn insisted. She motioned for Nimwen to take a seat once more. "Minuialwen, be so kind, would do?" she addressed one of the other ladies-in-waiting. Such a grand thing it was to be mistress of one's home, Éowyn contemplated with a discreet smile. Sliding back into her own chair the blonde woman regarded Nimwen with undisguised warmth. "When shall you ever learn that I take care of my own?" she light-heartedly chided.

Blushing at the kindness, Nimwen dipped her head. "Nary a doubt did I have, my Lady, that you would offer care to all those you beheld in affection." Brown eyes sparkled with mirth; an understanding between the women. Returning her attention to the unfinished piece on the table, Nimwen set about it once again. Content to work in silence for the time being, the daughter of Voronwë was startled by the arrival of the colony's leader. Minuialwen abrupt rising brought her gaze to the elf that entered. Curtsies exchanged, Nimwen demurely cast her stare upon the ground while Legolas pulled his beloved away.

"Adar has sent word that he is to come," Legolas disclosed to his spouse, one hand easily falling along the curve of her back as habit dictated. "I have just received his message."

Allowing herself a moment, Éowyn closed her eyes briefly. "I see," she uttered, her own hand venturing upon her husband's shoulder. One strong pulsation almost made her wince. What was it about that headache that would not leave her be? "It seems I have preparations to make the. Very well, my Lord."

"You are tired," Legolas observed, gently brushing back a stray lock of hair. Their had been a hard work; countless hours spend in negotiation and countless more had been dedicated to solving various problems that arose. One should never underestimate the capacity of others to get into all sorts of troublesome situations. Still, such was the duty that came with being leaders. Legolas did understood, yet it made it no easier, seeing his beloved so weary. He bent to place a kiss atop the crown of her head.

Sighing, Éowyn relaxed into his touch. Exhaustion was something she could endure as long as she knew she'd always be able to fall back on him. "It'll pass," the White Lady said with a smile. "Now, be off, for I must get on with my planning." Separating from his, Éowyn released his shoulder slowly and turned towards her aides. Behind her, she could hear the footfalls of her lover and the creek of the door. "I expect you shall give your very best in this endeavour." The slight warning in her tone made Nimwen curious of the visitors that would come. "I put my faith in you. Do not disappoint me, my dear friends."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Since times immemorial, art had been used as means of expressing oneself. It was at feasts that such creations would echo in the minds and hearts of many. Elves were known, in particular, for their musical skill, which was sure to ensnare the soul of the listener. Éowyn, having spent a number of seasons in the court of the Elven-King Thranduil, had found that the fair folk indeed played their harps and reed pipes with unmatched talent. One could not help but let their sweet melodies burrow deep into their very being. Unmatched were they, the first to awaken, by any other race. Their tunes were each unique.

Her lover's hand slid along her arm, almost touching, but not quite. They fingers met; his on a slow rise, hers slightly bent towards the ground. Éowyn allowed herself to be spun, a smile blossoming across her face. "I am well and thoroughly out of breath," she told Legolas, voice raspy. But she had enjoyed herself as her eyes showed when they met his. All that spinning and gliding had lifted her spirits to the heavens.

Guiding her towards her seat at the long table, Legolas helped her into the chair. "I shall leave you but a moment, my Lady. I see Stewart is here and very much wish to ask his opinion on a matter," the elf excused himself with a short bow to his wife. He made his way to Faramir's side and engaged the man in conversation. Éowyn remained on her own.

Thranduil came forward, placing himself at Éowyn's side. "Daughter, you seem even more radiant than I remember you," he complimented with a light smile and appraised her as if searching for something.

His probing gaze did not escape Éowyn's attention. "Adar! I swear 'tis only the torchlight. Last you've seen me the sun was shining upon us all," she recalled with genuine joy. The parent of her elf had warmed up to her in the moons she spent under his roof. A bond of sorts had formed between them. And yet his stare would not abate. "Why do you look upon me so? What are your eyes searching for?"

Electing to keep his reasons to himself, the Elven King bestowed a kind glance her way. He had been expecting the situation that awaited him in Ithilien to be entirely different. Thranduil couldn't have passed his long existence without learning of the races around him. Dwarves would never be anything more to him than an annoyance although his only child insisted on associating himself with them. Humans on the other hand he could stomach with more ease. Thus he had regarded them with more openness. They were indeed frail and susceptible to sickness and death, but still they presented some interest. It had to do, perhaps, with the fact that despite their small number of years and reduced strength they prevailed when others had no hope of doing so.

"I see you have once again monopolised my all of Lady's attention, Adar," Legolas' voice came from behind the Wood-land realm's leader. "Shall you never tire of doing this?" There was the faint trace of exasperation well hidden behind a benevolent smile. The Prince of Mirkwood could be fairly protective, albeit in a subtle manner, when he thought it necessary. It was apparent that at that moment he did so.

Hiding a smile, Éowyn's eyes lingered upon Legolas. "You father provides a scintillating conversation, my Lord. You needn't have rushed to my rescue." Though she did appreciate his thoughtfulness. After all, whatever strange relationship she had developed with Thranduil, it did not exempt her from the occasional needling the Elven King seemed so fond of lavishing upon her. She watched intently as both men stared at one another in a silent battle of the wills. It was so very curious a thing to witness.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"Morning has come, my love," Éowyn noted softly, hand sliding to her man's neck. "Can you not hear the wrens weaving a song to greet the sun?" She tried in vain to rouse Legolas. "Stubborn elf! You have to wake from your slumber. A new day had come." He did not move a single inch from his place.

"Beloved, listen with more care," he croaked in reply. "Those are the nightingales singing to the silver glow of the moon." The elf pulled her closer to himself. "Best you resume your rest, my lady."

"Oh, great Valar! What am I to do with you?" she chided. "The sun spills its rays and you tell me of nightingales and the moon." She murmured in low tones, words that singled a fond exasperation.

Legolas had taken to that particular routine ever since Éowyn had found out she was with child. Before, he would be awake much sooner than her, already examining over documents by the time she climbed out of bed. The dynamics had much changed however in the wake of their discovery. They had changed.

Perhaps it was that neither of them truly knew what to expect of this. Éowyn had grown into a young woman without her mother's guidance. She had little opportunity to discuss such life altering events as having a child and no interest whatsoever in the subject during the dark reign of Grima. At that time she'd been convinced that no man would ever capture her heart and that she'd perish a statue of ice in the frozen hell she had felt herself banished in. Éowyn had not counted on encountering anyone able to break down her walls. Yet it had happened and she was to be a mother soon. She would hold her baby.

For his part, Legolas still marvelled at the fact that they'd created life together. It had always been a possibility. Yet considering that he was an elf and she a woman, somehow it seemed a dream out of reach. The Valar had already given him a wonderful companion; Legolas hadn't dared ask for more. But additional bliss had come forth. It was with astonishing ease that he recalled the rush of joy he'd felt the moment Éowyn had spoken the words to let him know that she was carrying. Even more amazing was the pleasure of watching it all unfold before his eyes. Slowly, tenderly, Legolas placed his palm over her rounded midsection. He took great delight in feeling her slight tremble against his warmed skin.

"Remain just so, here, in my arms." Her attempts to evade his hold were met with the iron restraint of his arm. "You think to escape? My lady should know that such efforts are only wasted here. You cannot get away, this I guarantee to you, my beloved." He laughed good-naturedly at her pretended outrage.

"Laugh all you like," Éowyn hissed, still struggling. "But know this, you are entirely too assured of your strength and think too little of mine." As if to prove her point she found a weak link and set about exploiting it. "You should know not to take everything at face value." Her warning preceded her victory.

Admitting himself defeated, Legolas released Éowyn. He remained unmoving as she rolled out of bed. His eyes trailed her form lovingly, thought of happiness in his mind."Be it as you wish." His soul reached out for hers and that of the child in her womb. Who would have though he'd ever live such moments? Certainly not the son of Thranduil as he set out of his father's house. Yet he was. Legolas had a family of his own.

"Come now," Éowyn called to him. "No more dawdling or the day light shall wane before you even make it to your feet." She would not let up despite the pleading look sent her way. "Up you get!"

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The world was a tapestry well-woven in which small strands crossed paths. From the meeting of thousands and thousands of such threads a myriad of relationships was born. A person had both a mother and a father, then there were the friends and lovers, the enemies and then those who depended upon them. Even when the very world held its breath as danger drew closer such links continued to be born. The War of the Ring had been proof of that. Alliances and friendships, rivalries and discord had painted every individual's life. The world went on seemingly uncaring in spite of all.

Éowyn considered her fate one guided under a star of luck. She had gained many comrades in those dark days. Aragorn, Merry, Gimli, her husband were a few, were she to name any. They had all played their part. She was a better person for having known them. Thus great enthusiasm engulfed her when it came time to see one of these dear friends again on her doorsteps. How could she be less than ecstatic?

"I see you are much changed, my lady," he addressed Éowyn, eyes sparkling with good humour. Levelling a sharp glance at Legolas, he made a faux disapproving sound. "Too much changed, if you let yourself be fooled into taking this elf for husband." His stare fell to her rounded middle. "Alas you have no escape now." They shared a laugh, the kind that friends often did when in the company of each other.

"Now, my dear Gimli, I resent such words," Legolas said with false antagonism. "This fair lady has seen fit to honour me by accepting my suit and you try to bring all my hard work down. What of our amity?"

"What of it, you fool of an elf?" was the gruff reply. His countenance changed. "I had heard you left your father's realm and have settled in Ithilien. Have you grown bored of your woods and trees and grass?"

"My friend, the war has affected all. How could I possibly hold my head up high and walk in the world without helping to rebuild?" Legolas chuckled. "I am not the only one who has left home behind." Éowyn brushed her hand to his. "Ours is a new world. Let us fashion it with love, and in harmony."

"Only you would speak such words." Gimli looked upon his friend's lady. "You have once expressed your curiosity of dwarven culture. It was I believe before the battle at Helm's Deep. Do you recall, my lady?"

"Indeed, I do." Éowyn gazed in wonder at the dwarf. "You were telling me such wonderful stories of your people. Why do you ask?" She smiled, lips curling in an inviting sign for the man to speak freely.

"The White Mountains hide natural resources, beyond the expectations of many." The warrior inclined his head at the understanding upon the faces of his friends."A number of dwarves had followed me to Aglarond. Our ties with Rohan are strong. Minas Tirith had led out a hand too. Join us," he proposed.

A look was exchanged between Legolas and Éowyn. Both had agreed with that one glance what was to be done. "You have our support. A council will have to be called together, but know that we are in favour of such ties being established." Such were the words to leave the elf's lips in that moment. "Speak to us more of this partnership." It was time for unity to take over what disarray had once claimed.

So it was that the whole of Middle Earth came together once again. Treaties and promises, many connection were crafted between different races and diverse individuals. The ever turning world would not sit still and with it would advance all living things. What was being built was a future full of hope.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The hour of birth upon her, Éowyn could not help but recall her mother's sweet, sorrowed face when she glanced upon her children. When she'd died Éowyn had been but a little girl, and thus had gotten no knowledge from her mother, no part of her wisdom. And she was poorer for it. The fear ate at her even as she admonished herself silently. Growing up without parents was a cruel thing, one she would not wish upon her offspring. The very though of it left her breathless. Of course, the pain helped it less. But such stories had reached her ears that she feared. Éowyn wished with all her might to survive.

She was glad, Éowyn decided, that her husband wasn't here to witness this. Would she that he did not see her thus in the grip of pain. The woman was certain she was being split apart, more so as the blood seeped out of her. She needn't have looked at the linen to confirm it. "Valar be good!" The words rushed past her lips, in strained tones. Sweat trickled down her forehead, and then a cool cloth washed it away. For a brief moment she managed to rise herself on her elbows. She gritted her teeth at the pain.

"Be back with you," the midwife rebuked her, not with harshness. "You'll upset the babe with all you fretting, m'lady." She was a crone of a woman, looking ancient with a wrinkled face and leathery skin. Her round formed boasted either a comfortable life or the many births of her own. "Lay back down, m'lady. 'Tis not time yet for the babe to come."

Éowyn would have disagreed had she the strength to do so, however, she was kept well occupied by her own ache at the moment. As it was she eyes the old woman with all the weariness of a birthing female. A new wave of pain too over her. This one had been somewhat fiercer, eliciting a disgruntled sound from her. The midwife raised the blankets and something flickered across her face. "What is it?" she questioned, voice thick.

"You babe plans to come into the world feet-first. We must turn him." The old woman wasted no more time on explanations despite the many questions in her lady's eyes. Instead she set about brining the child into the correct position with the help of an elf healer.

Nerve-wracking, bone-rattling, excruciating agony fills her world in those moments. There are precious few seconds for her to gather herself and stand against the next wave. Her life had been in peril before, she recalled vaguely; she had galloped through the battlefields, sword in hand. Éowyn thought of how others praised her bravery and let out a short laugh that soon turned to a scream. How little men knew of bravery, she now realised. How little men knew of pain. How little she'd known of both until now.

Exhausted Éowyn held her child, much later just as the son hid behind green mounds. Fresh linen, of stark white colour, had been put on the bed and her babe swaddled in silk of shimmering silver. Éowyn studied the face of her son, from the top of his head to the tip of one point ear, she traced her finger lightly. Then she rested said digit of the fullness of one rosy cheek, and smiled at the yawn that the boy released.

Her son had come into the world with a loud wail; so loud she'd thought Legolas might have heard it even in the Glittering Caves he visited. Éowyn though of her husband longingly. Her confinement had stopped her from joining him as she found it more and more difficult to move in the later months of her pregnancy. No matter, upon his return he'd have gained a son.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"It is childbed fever," a raspy voice could be heard somewhere above her. Éowyn tried to open her eyes and see the speaker. Her eyelids, however, remained glued together. Her head felt heavy and a dull ache was ever-present. Éowyn was lifted slightly, a cool cloth placed to her forehead. She would have liked to hold her son close to her. How it all had come to this, she could but wondered.

Legolas saw her eyelids flutter, yet he could only stare at her numbly. The babe fussed in his hold, perhaps wanting his mother's arms around him. The elf turned steely eyes to the healers. "And you do nothing?!" It was strange to see her so close to death again. Strange and heartbreaking still, because he didn't know if he could bring her back. Legolas looked about the room. "I require a moment with my wife." At that signal the room was emptied save for three souls.

He joined her on the bed, one arm going about her to prop the woman against his chest. He manipulated her hands in a form fit to cradle their son, his own sustaining hers. Dark grey eyes finally opened, the storm raging behind those tinted orbs. He could feel a faint stir against him as Éowyn forced herself to move. "Name," she breathed out, just barely, against his neck.

"Beren," Legolas decided. The name was chosen as much for a fallen hero as for him and her. Their son looked to be the very image of his father, pale skinned and golden haired. But his eyes, those he received from Éowyn. A quiet child even as the world crumbled around him, Beren sought the warmth of his mother. "He shall be our Beren." Legolas kissed his wife's brow sweetly, gently, in thanks. "I shall teach him to use the bow and arrows, and you the wielding of a sword." He would accept no less.

A content sight left Éowyn's lips at such words. Hope was last to die, she well remembered. And there was yet hope until she drew her last breath. Silently, she convinced herself that she would see her son grow. If the Valar would see fit to save her. The thought touched her mind and fled as swiftly as the summer breeze would, or so Éowyn imagined. The heat seared her, pain returning with every breath she took. The woman clung to her child and leaned into her husband. Could he bear losing her after such short a period together? They had counted on having years and years together. She closed her eyes.

Blood pounded harshly beneath her skin, her pulse a wild thing. Legolas pressed his cheek to the top of her head, damp hair against his face. The child slept undisturbed and the elf prayed. Eru would see them through, in his wisdom making the best decision for all. "Don't let go, my beloved," he whispered in her ear. "There is much left to do." He begged Éowyn to live, to have the strength to pull through, if not for him and herself than for the babe she'd brought into the world.

One of the healers was called upon. Legolas stayed to instruct that his wife be given the very best care. In the meantime he would write to his father. Thranduil was an older soul, wiser still than his heir. If help could be given, then it was from his father that he would receive it. Little Beren deserved to know his mother and the love only she could give him, like Legolas and Éowyn never had.

The riders left in haste upon the word of their Prince. The swiftest horses had been chosen for the task. "Let her live," Legolas asked of the darkening skies and the setting sun. He needed to keep her alive.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Thranduil stared at the woman who had given birth to his grandson. She was drawn and pale, her skin oddly cool beneath his fingertips. Her golden hair was brittle, her lips without blood. At the very least her fever had gone down, but she'd not woken in many hours. It had been some time since she'd been given a draught. They had hoped it would bring her about, strengthen her, yet no result had appeared besides the dropping of her temperature. But for all that she had not stirred, not even when her son had been brought to her side. The healers simply shrugged. They could do nothing for her unless she woke from her deep slumber.

"You've given my son a great joy, and an equally great burden. 'Tis the sweetest sort of joy and weight that he could ever hope to carry. But it will embitter him not having you to share it with." He brushed her hair back as one might do for a child. "It is not something I wish upon him." Thranduil glanced towards the closed doors. "He sleeps now. I will speak freely, my daughter." There was a pause during which he gathered his thoughts. I know exactly what I tell you. When my son's mother died, I blamed it on him."

Without doubt Éowyn would have been shocked by his words if she could react. It was not an admission easily made. Thranduil had fought himself over and over again regarding this decision. Yet he hoped that sharing the tale with her he could somehow determine the woman to come back, or rather to remain as she hadn't left at all. If by admitting to past weakness he could do that, Thranduil would hold nothing back; for himself and all others he would speak the truth.

"I couldn't even look at him," Thranduil whispered. "Legolas' mother died giving birth to him. It was a cruel way to go, crueller than most would dare think. I have slain men on the battlefield and I have had my share of wounds. But I vow, nothing prepared me for the birthing chambers." He though she'd moved and held his silence for a brief second. "I wasn't even there for the worst of it. I could hear her crying, and I just sat outside unable to do anything for her." He'd been as powerless as his son was now.

Legolas was not like him though. Legolas held his child in his arms. He could still glance upon his son and not see his wife's face twisting in pain as her life left her. His son had come home to a woman almost dead. Legolas had not seen the woman he loved bleed, and bleed, and bleed until she had no more to give. The new father had not witnessed the colour draining from his woman's face. But both Thranduil and Legolas had felt the same sort of desperation. The question was if his son would have the power to get through were he to lose Éowyn. Would he have the power to live? Or even the desire?

"My solution was to pull away. I would spend days avoiding the nursery. Legolas had everything he wanted, but not everything he needed. Later on the rift began to mend, but it never felt quite right. It still doesn't."

Éowyn's eyes opened slowly. She looked at the elf with understanding. Thranduil was greatly shaken. She had been listening. Not merely hearing; his almost daughter had heard every word of his and was now regarding him with exhausted eyes. Her lips moved but no words came out.

At that exact moment Legolas chose to come in the room. He took one look to his wife and hurried to her side. "You're awake." Wonder and relief and joy mixed within that utterance.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
